I Remember Mama


Yesterday was a tough day.

Last night was agonizing.
I can’t imagine facing a day of my life without her . . .
or a day without sobbing.
This evening is sad – seeing her, my Mama – lifeless and still upon pink satin lining the silver box . I don’t want to see her like this.
I close my eyes and remember her in the kitchen, making her yellow rolls; I remember her tucking me into bed at night; and I remember her dancing down “Main Street” on our first trip to Disney World!
Then I open my eyes and look around the large room of this funeral home, a place I don’t want to be, facing what I don’t want to face,  where earlier, alone, I couldn’t stop crying.
Now the room has taken on a different countenance. Instead of the parlor of death, it has become a playroom, filled with my young grandchildren. Their voices, full of animation, and their healthy little bodies, full of life, make me realize that Mama lives on in me, in my children, and in my grandchildren. As I reflect upon it, I realize that life is truly amazing. My friend, Connie, told me that today. “Life is amazing,” she said, “and we are a part of it.”
And I am a part of it because of my precious Mama. And now I will pass on the tradition of baking the yellow rolls and I will tuck my little ones into bed, and I will dance down Main Street.”
Tomorrow I must say goodbye – I know it’s just her body – that her soul is in heaven and that she will receive a new, vibrant, healthy body, but it’s her old body and her touch and her voice that I will miss. It’s the smell of Ponds Cold Cream and of yellow rolls baking in her oven.